


For the Union

by Zombiebarnes



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Alien Culture, Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Ambassador!Julian, Cultural Differences, Diplomat!Garak, M/M, Parental Expectations, discussions of race and heritage, traditional parents
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-28
Updated: 2019-01-17
Packaged: 2019-09-29 12:58:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17203853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zombiebarnes/pseuds/Zombiebarnes
Summary: Julian Bashir is a member of the Federation's diplomacy service. Elim Garak is a retired military man, and a reluctant people person.It's practically the match of the century.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I think the quote "I promise to take care of you when you are old but the first time you hit me with your crane, I’ll wash your dentures in toilet water." describes the mood of this AU pretty accurately

The Cardassian Central Command and the Detapa Council were both housed in a secure compound on the outskirts of Lakarian City. It was an imposing steel grey in colour, a stark contrast to the dusty red hills that surrounded it. The spires were visible from every point in the city, A reminder of the power and glory of the Cardassian Union. Garak, however, being a man of impeccable taste, saw it as something of an eyesore.

Elim Garak, ex-Obsidian Order operative, friend of the federation, was well known for his ability to talk his way out of trouble. Ever since childhood, he had been known for his quick wit and cutting observation. Of course, time had softened him. Diplomacy did, after all, require a slightly gentler touch than espionage. He had long been considered a thorn in the side of the government, yet his connections made him almost invaluable. His experience was an incredible resource to anyone who might have wished to make use of it. With no way to effectively assert control over him, he was something of a loose cannon. Perhaps that was why he had been deemed the perfect person to help Tain put his newest plan into action. 

He had been appointed the advisor to the new prefect of Bajor shortly after retiring from the Obsidian Order- years of secrecy having taking their toll on him. Garak had been a prolific member of the Order, known for his ruthlessness and efficiency. His years of service to the Union had been rewarded with little more than a pat on the back and a letter of recommendation from the distant father he cared very little to impress. Leaving Cardassia Prime in a shuttle destined for a new frontier had at least felt liberating, at the time.

Bajor was, frankly, beautiful. Elim had an eye for the aesthetic, and was enraptured by the landscape surrounding him. His heart lay in the sandy cities of Cardassia, in the marketplaces teeming with exotic herbs and spices, the heat of an open hearth and the smell of the coal used to fuel it. His body sang when he laid eyes on a rack of the traditional printed chiffons, or took his first sip of a well-aged Kanar, but he could see the draw of the opportunity to tame a savage land. To harness the rolling fields and sweet smelling crops. To scale the cliffs of Undalar, or stroll through the now empty halls of the great university in Musilla province. On Cardassia, things looked the way they did for a reason. Everything served a purpose. On Bajor, things were designed for style alone. Their buildings were great feats of engineering, their clothing a show of impressive craftsmanship.

The work suited him well. He enjoyed advocating for the Bajoran people, using his intelligence instead of his fists was quite the welcome change. The Bajoran people were a gentle sort, dedicated to hard work and keeping the peace. His perceived ambivalence towards the actions of Central Command, however, had certainly endeared the young Gul Dukat to him. Dukat granted him the freedom to move around the planet at his leisure, quelling the resistance with pleasant greetings and empty promises.

He carved a little residence for himself with the expectation that his stay on Bajor would be essentially indefinite. Having a nice house in the foothills of Dahkur had been something of a dream in the wake of a somewhat questionable career in espionage. Of course, it had all been for nothing when the Detapa Council had decided that Garak was too valuable an asset to be allowed to retire from military life in peace.

Tain seemed to have made it his personal mission to make Elim’s life as difficult as possible. It was hardly a surprise when he had received an official summons, printed with a rather official looking letterhead. He was to return to Cardassia at once, to speak with his father about the new assignment he hadn’t requested.

Garak found himself once again seated in Tain’s chambers on official business. It was hard to remember the last time he had been to visit his father of his own volition, or without being under duress, for that matter. He absentmindedly drummed a finger against his chin as he watched Tain’s receptionist tapping away at a computer console, the sound echoing around the starkly decorated room. The grey walls threatened to close in on him, but he supposed that was how Tain preferred his interior design- bleak. Something about the space had always made him uneasy. Perhaps it was the lack of windows. Tain himself had taught Garak to avoid being trapped in spaces with no option for escape.

The young man at the desk had barely looked up when he entered, advising him to take a seat in a clipped tone. Garak disliked waiting, particularly to be granted an audience with someone like Enabran Tain.

A short, stout man appeared in the doorway, dressed in the Obsidian Order’s signature shade of grey, the symbol of the Central Command pinned to his lapel.  
“Elim,” he greeted, his arms outstretched in “welcome”, “I’m glad to see you could grace us with your presence.”  
Garak stood, smoothing out his robes. Tain seemed to be in good spirits, but no harm had ever come from being cautious.  
“I wouldn’t dream of ignoring summons from a superior,” He answered, the quirk in his brow giving away his suspicion.  
“Oh, is that any way to greet me? Come, come. We have much to discuss.”

Tentatively, Garak followed him down the hall, his eyes following the utilitarian curves of the concrete structure around them.  
“I’m sure you’re aware of the subspace chatter, being the diligent man you are.” Tain began.  
Garak nodded, observing the way Tain waved his hand with indifference. He had heard rumours, of course, but it seemed nothing of any particular consequence. It seemed Tain would have agreed with his assessment.  
“We wish to join the Federation. I’m sure I needn’t explain to you- of all people- the strategic advantages of doing so,” He paused, allowing Garak to fall into step with him. Almost as if he were speaking to an equal. “Starfleet will be sending us a young ambassador to aid in the application process. We believe it would be incredibly beneficial for both parties if we were able to ensure a more permanent bond between our two empires.”

Once their eyes met, it was not difficult for Garak to read into the meaning behind Tain’s words. He practically balked at the suggestion.  
“You called me back from my assignment on Bajor, an assignment I was excelling in, might I add, to encourage me to marry a human for the sole purpose of fuelling your political ambitions?” He asked. His face clearly betrayed his distaste with the situation.  
Tain smiled, his eyes creasing, his lips a tight, thin line. Though for all intents and purposes, it was a smile, there was nothing resembling friendliness or familiarity behind it. The way he bared his teeth as he spoke put Garak on edge almost immediately.  
“Oh, Elim, this is hardly encouragement. No, I’ve called you back here to make you aware of your engagement. It seems you’re the last to know.”  
  
Tain paused in front of a set of heavy, reinforced, metal doors towards the end of the hallway- his office. It was not the first time Garak had been here, but he imagined it was quickly about to become the least pleasant. His eyes strayed to a singular, large bay window that flooded the compound with the golden hue of late afternoon sunlight.  
“Why don’t you tell me a little about this “ambassador”?” Garak said, his fingers intertwined behind his back as he gazed down upon the courtyard below.  
“I think you’ll find him to your liking”  


The first thing Julian had noticed was how unbearably hot it was on Cardassia Prime. The humidity left his hair plastered to his face, his clothing clinging to a body that was unused to the heat, in spite of his ancestry. He had expected it to be temperate, but not quite like this. Almost as soon as he stepped off the shuttle, he had wondered whether he was really prepared to live here. The planet was far less green than he had expected.

The engagement had not come as a surprise to Julian. His parents had been almost desperate to have him marry for years. As a young member of Starfleet’s diplomatic service corps, he was desirable. He spoke 4 languages, played the violin, and held a degree in medicine. It was a surprise even to him that he remained single at nearly 30. By all rights, the suitors should have been pounding on his door.

His parents had been ecstatic when the Cardassian Central Command had specifically requested a union through marriage. With relations in the Alpha quadrant hanging in the balance, it had hardly been an option for Starfleet to refuse, as archaic as they may have found the practise to be. They had been eager for Julian to agree to the arrangement, and even suspiciously willing to help him pack. In the words of his mother, it would be an excellent opportunity to advance his career. A good match with an eligible, consummate professional would be invaluable for the reputation of the family. And so, Julian had boarded the next shuttle leaving earth, armed with a very simple mission: Improve Starfleet’s relationship with the Cardassian Union. Laugh at their jokes, eat their food. Wear their clothes, bring them into the fold.

Julian was excited to meet his husband to be. Ever since he was a child, he had had an insatiable curiosity about the universe. As a young boy, he had devoured books as if his tiny body sustained itself on the nourishment of knowledge alone. His time in medical school had only exacerbated his desire to hoard knowledge. He was particularly intrigued by unusual species. Xenobiology had held a fascination all of its own. The Cardassians were by no means an exception to the rule. At the very least, the opportunity to study a member of a notoriously secretive race would be- medically speaking- incredibly valuable. The opportunity to arrange a full anthropological study of Cardassian society was in itself an opportunity his academy colleagues would kill to oversee.

Enabran Tain’s office was clearly a testament to Cardassian innovation, Julian thought. Tain had good taste. The imposing wooden desk set in the centre of the room was the type Julian’s father might have owned when he was a boy. He wasn’t familiar with the material, but if the intricate carvings that lined the legs was any indication, the price tag would have been hefty. His train of thought was interrupted by the sound of voices outside the office. He had already been introduced to Tain, and he assumed the second voice must belong to his fiancé. He sat up, smoothing the front of his shirt. First impressions were everything, and it certainly wouldn’t do to look untidy. He barely had the opportunity to fix his stray hairs before the two men entered.

Their eyes met. Garak was hesitant, reticent, even, to hold Julian’s gaze for longer than a few seconds. Tain watched on as the two of them bumbled around one another. Garak was smaller than the other Cardassians Julian had been introduced to. He was well built, with broad shoulders, and shapely calves. He was a blue-grey in colouring, with the most piercing eyes. He walked with a purpose the doctor didn’t imagine he could ever quite match, and stood tall. A military posturing, he imagined. Julian stood, and offered the Cardassian his hand.  
“Doctor Bashir, I assume?” Garak asked, his eyes flickering from side to side, mapping every available inch of Julian’s face. Curious. His gaze was pointed. In front of him stood the very picture of beauty. Tall and lithe, with long eyelashes and full lips. Had he been a Cardassian, surely he might not have found himself in such a position.

It took all Julian’s willpower not to wilt under the intensity of his stare. In spite of the formalities, it would have been difficult for either man not to notice the spark of electricity that crackled in the tiny space between their bodies as Garak took Julian’s hand. A small shiver rippled through his body, as he spoke.  
“Yes, that’s right. You must be Mr. Garak.”

The way Julian’s tongue darted out to wet his lips certainly didn’t escape the notice of anyone present. Julian cleared his throat, reclaiming his hand, and Garak took a step back. The electricity may have dissipated, but it would take a little more time for Julian’s heart to stop beating at 200. From somewhere behind them came a throaty chuckle.  
“If you please, gentleman, we have arrangements to discuss.”


	2. Chapter 2

In the first few days of their relationship, Julian found himself with very little to say to Garak. It wasn’t exactly how he had imagined life with his fiancé to be. Garak largely spent his time holed up in his study. What he was doing, only Allah could say for sure. He had made it abundantly clear, however, that he wasn’t to be disturbed, leaving Julian with free reign of the property, and the gardens that surrounded it. The house itself was somewhat more modest than he had been expecting, more akin to a log cabin than a country estate. Decoration was sparse, barely heeding any clues about the sort of person he was about to marry, let alone the type of family he was about to marry into.

He fell into a predictable pattern. In the morning he would wake up and have breakfast. Around halfway through, Garak would emerge, already dressed for the day. Some days, a few pleasantries would be exchanged. Garak would ask him how he’d slept, if he had any plans for the day. The rest of the time, the other man would barely take note of his presence. They would eat in silence, and Garak would take off for his study. For the rest of the day, Julian would read in the garden, or wander the halls, looking for some trouble to keep him entertained. In the evening, they would sit down to a meal Garak had cooked. Again, conversation would be minimal. Julian would insist on helping clear away, and Garak would refuse his help, after which, both men would retire to their respective rooms.

Julian was given his own room at the opposite end of the building, much to his disappointment. The room was a good size, with a bathroom connected to it, and a balcony that looked out across the desert, with a view all the way to the city across the sandy expanse. It was pretty, he supposed, but he had really expected to share a bedroom with his partner.

Perhaps it wasn’t customary on Cardassia, after all, he was a newcomer. Information on their culture and history was limited. Cardassians were largely reticent to share this information with the Federation. He had effectively been thrown in at the deep end, with little access to information about the language, or even what he should do to avoid causing offence. Garak seemed to like his space, and he understood, but it just seemed so lonely.

The property was equipped with a small, cosy library that he had stumbled across while exploring. Judging by the layer of dust that coated everything in the room, Garak didn’t frequent the space. A stained glass window depicting what he assumed were Garak’s parents cast the room in a flood of colours. The walls were lined with books written entirely in Kardassi, as he had discovered upon closer inspection. The text appeared to largely be handwritten, though Julian’s knowledge of the language was far too limited to be able to tell who had written it, or what the books were about. He sighed, slipping the volume- bound in a red leather type material- back into its place.  

There was a locked room on the Second floor, adjacent to his bedroom. There was something enticing about the intricately carved handle. Julian had asked Garak about the room over dinner one evening. The man was less than forthcoming with information, and had stated explicitly that he wasn’t to enter. His further enquiries had been welcomed even less, suffice to say.

At first he had enjoyed strolling through the land that surrounded the property, wondering how on earth Garak had managed to cultivate such a beautiful environment in the unforgiving soil. Sitting amongst the greenery, the first rays of sunlight warming his skin, Julian could almost have convinced himself that he was enjoying his time here. Until the heat became unbearable, and his body screamed at him to return inside. He had discovered early on that Elim didn’t like him to do anything around the house, and with no connections, and few belongings to speak of, let alone any responsibilities, he soon began to tire of his routine.

It was two weeks of monotony before Julian’s resolve crumbled.

He looked at his reflection in a full length mirror that stood in one corner of his room. Enabran Tain had gifted him a series of more appropriate outfits upon his arrival. Julian couldn’t tell exactly how extravagant they were, in comparison to Cardassian fashion in general, but Garak had seemed particularly uncomfortable about his generosity.

He had picked a garment in a lightweight gold material -almost chiffon- embroidered around its low neckline. It reached to just below his knees, and complimented his skin tone with incredible precision. Underneath he wore a pair of lightweight pants. Having no idea what this particular item of clothing was, or how it was supposed to be styled, it seemed sensible to wear pants- just in case.

He padded down the hall, his bare feet tapping gently against the cool stone floors until he reached the room he believed to be Garak’s study. The door was ever so slightly ajar, and Julian, ever curious, couldn’t resist the urge to do a little reconnaissance of his own. He peered into Elim’s office though the slight gap in the doorway. Garak was sat at a tall writing table, angled towards the window, his brow creased in something Julian might have read as concern. It wasn’t often that he saw someone use a pen and paper- it almost seemed primitive in comparison to the PADD, but Garak appeared engrossed in his writing.

“Are you planning to stand there all day, or are you going to knock?” Garak asked, barely bothering to look up from his work.   
Julian cleared his throat, smoothing his shirt as he pushed the door open. He had made a special effort for the occasion. If he was going to go against Garak’s wishes, the least he could do was use his boyish charm to win him over. He felt a flush rise to the tips of his ears at the realisation he had been caught like a child with his hand in the cookie jar.

“Ah. I’m sorry, I…I’m not much of a spy, as you can see,” He laughed, offering Garak an awkward smile. The man didn’t return the sentiment, looking at him with nothing other than disdain.   
“Can I help you, Mr. Bashir?”

The tone of Garak’s voice made him grimace. He heard it on a near daily basis, a mix of passive disinterest and active distaste. His expression wasn’t much better. He was clearly somewhat put out that Julian had deemed it appropriate to interrupt his “important” work. Julian felt his blood beginning to boil with the intense glare Garak levelled at him, but he was a professional. He was no Vulcan, but he was a diplomat. He was an expert at controlling his own emotions. He clasped his hands together in front of him, stepping closer to the desk, and resting his hand on the edge. If Garak couldn’t interpret his tone, perhaps he could interpret a power move. It appeared to throw Garak off for a moment.

“Yes, actually, I believe you can,” He started, folding his arms across his chest indignantly. “I’m getting bored here. I need something to do. I can feel my brain starting to solidify as we speak. Either you provide me with something to entertain me, or I’ll be forced to walk all the way into the city to find it myself, is that clear?”

His firm tone appeared to have worked. Garak was rapt, his attention focused entirely on the young man in front of him. He scoffed.   
“I am not your babysitter. I have affairs to attend to.”  
“Affairs, hm? What kind of affairs? I’m your fiancé, by rights I should be the most important affair in your life.”

It didn’t take much convincing for Garak to concede defeat on the matter. He set down his pen, standing up. The way he puffed out his chest to match Julian’s stance didn’t escape notice. Garak studied his face with his unusually intense gaze, clearly searching for signs of weakness, a lack of resolve. Whether he had found it, Julian couldn’t say.   
“We have been invited to a dinner this evening. I suppose we might spare the time to attend, if it will get you out of my office.”  
“Do we get invited to many events?” Julian asked  
“A few,”  
“And why haven’t you informed _me_ of them?”

By this point, the two men stood within inches of one another. Julian could feel the heat radiating from Elim’s body, and by extension, he hoped Garak could feel the anger that radiated from his. Was Garak keeping him isolated on purpose? Was he embarrassed to be seen with him? Why did he continually insist on being so secretive about everything. Garak looked down on him, unimpressed with his questioning.   
“I don’t like to make public appearances.”

Julian huffed, rolling his eyes in response. “What _do_ you like? You rarely even leave the house. You sit here, moping like an 80-year-old man about whatever it is. You behave like an overly dramatic teenager. No one could possibly understand the depth of your feelings, could they? Stop being a baby and take me to dinner.” Julian finished his rant with a flourish, jabbing a finger into Elim’s solid chest. He could have sworn he saw a smile tug at the corner of Garak’s lips, but he soon regained his carefully crafted façade.   
“Very well, We’ll go to the dinner, if that’s what you want.”   



End file.
